


The Flies Have It

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Extra Limbs, F/F, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shapeshifting, as usual if u know me irl don't you dAre even thINk about reading this thx, it's all pretty tame as well in spite of the following tags, she/her pronouns for Beelzebub, she/her pronouns for Dagon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-25 23:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Beelzebub has had to push back date night due to an influx of complaints from the Fifth Circle; Dagon decides to start without her. The Lord of the Flies does make it in the end, though – and a delightfully disgusting evening was had by all concerned.





	The Flies Have It

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly excessive use of expletives bc they can’t say the word ‘god’. And because I swear like a trooper myself and it’s a hard habit to get out of believably in modern-ish fic. This is my first proper PWP and has been a WIP for like. a month. so I hope it’s all right!

They had _finally_ managed to line their schedules up. It had been months. _Months_\- if not years? There was, after all, no rest for the wicked. And normally that suited Dagon just fine – she hadn’t become the Lord of the Files for shirking her paperwork, but when you had been looking forward to a... long-overdue rendezvous with your, aha, _co-worker_, and work got in the way? That was just a little too much for Dagon to reconcile with.

Her lip curled as she reread the terse note which had materialised on her desk not five minutes ago.

‘_Unavoidably detained. Fifth Circle. Bastards all._’

She had half a mind to go up and flay the bloody Fifth Circle messengers herself; at least she would derive _some _enjoyment from that. She groaned and leaned all the way back in her chair – improbably far, in fact, the back legs wondering why they hadn’t yet toppled toward the floor – resigned to an unexpected extra few hours of paperwork.

Not that time really meant anything in this place.

Tipping forward again, she grabbed the next letter on top of the overflowing intray (some pathetic creature insisting it was on the wrong floor; as if she would make a mistake like that), and began to read.

Her mind, however, would not stay focussed on the task at hand, wandering nonchalantly back to bloody Beelzebub and the bloody bed in the next room over and- _wait a second_, an idea sparked through the gloomy recesses of her brain – _why do I need both of those things for a good time? So Beelzebub isn’t here, big deal. I can start without her._

Mind thus made up, she cast the letter derisively into the outbox, unread. It didn’t really matter in the end, where she threw it. It would be back in the in-tray again in due course.

***

It had been around half an hour since Beelzebub’s note had arrived. Dagon had found any number of ways to keep herself occupied in the meantime, none of them things one could talk about in polite society. Dagon didn’t know any society of that sort anyway, so it was of little consequence.

And so it was that when Beelzebub finally turned up, honing in on Dagon’s karmic signature with her usual unerring accuracy, to land her at the foot of the bed, she found the other demon leant up against a mound of filthy pillows by the headboard, completely naked, with one hand gripping the headboard fiercely, and the other between her legs.

Her eyes were closed.

Beelzebub licked her lips, and stayed silent.

***

Dagon was contemplating, at the rapid approach of orgasm number three, calling it a day and going and wiling something instead. She sighed deeply and opened her eyes; the sensation of temporary blindness when she came with her eyes open was always rather enjoyable.

She refocused, blinked. Beelzebub was there, at the foot of the bed. Watching. How long had she been there? She hadn’t heard the perpetual buzzing over her own breathing, loud in her ears.

Demons don’t feel shame (yet another marker of the so-called ‘demon’ Crowley as distinctly Other), and so Dagon didn’t even think to stop her current activities just because her errant... well, because Beelzebub was here. She rolled her hips up into her hand, eyelashes fluttering, and purred, “You came.”

“Not yet,” was the languid response from the foot of the bed.

Dagon snorted. “Well, I’m sure we can modify that. Lend a hand?”

“If you’re going to aszzk me for favourszzz, you can use my proper title, filthy wanton.”

Dagon inhaled sharply, raggedly, pale eyes darkening perceptibly. So they were playing that game, were they? All right then.

“My Lord Beelzebub, I would be-” she cut herself off with a carefully-placed moan, which elicited exactly no response from its intended recipient, the ungrateful bitch, “- immensely gratified if you could see your way to putting that foul mouth of yours to more appropriate use.” Her eyes gleamed, her twin tongues lolling cheekily from between dripping fangs, not quite so far gone that she couldn’t show attitude.

There was silence, stillness at the foot of the bed. The Lord of the Flies buzzed lowly, the flies the only sign that she was any more than a statue. She was still staring, four eyes fixed wholly on her opposite number. The silence stretched like a damned soul on the rack.

_Ok, that is actually really hot_, Dagon thought distractedly as she lurched suddenly closer to coming, grinding more desperately against her fingers in front of her audience of one, eye contact unrelenting in the grey darkness.

“Beelze- my _Lord_, I’m so cl-” she choked out, before gasping in shock as with a flick of her wrist Beelzebub pinned both of hers to the headboard, leaving her arching up desperately into empty air, a mere second from orgasm. Dagon bit her lip viciously in her attempt to stifle her scream of frustration, fangs drawing blood in three places and almost sending her over the edge – but Beelzebub had timed it exactly, millennia of association paying off. She whined loudly, desperate for some kind of friction and practically gasping with the torture of feeling her orgasm slowly – oh, so slowly – ebb away.

Beelzebub stuck both hands in her pockets and simply regarded her, writhing on the bed before her like a particularly juicy sacrifice (not that they really went in for that kind of thing anymore), before with a faint sucking noise, she vanished, a thousand flies appearing in her place, surging forward to cover Dagon’s body in darkness.

Dagon really did scream this time, a choked-off wail that subsided into gasping; she was still so close, but this would never be enough, and _Beelzebub knew that_, the _bastard_. Thousands of tiny feet jostled for space on her naked body, idling tantalisingly over her breasts and making her squirm miserably. She arched up again on the bed, making contact with nothing, hands pinned above her with demonic intent, and it was so much, _so _much, but it wasn’t _enough_-

“_Beelzebub-_” she gasped, greedily swallowing down the flies filling her mouth – but it wasn’t _enough_, oh _Satan_-

“Yeszzzz?” came the voice of a thousand, ten thousand flies at once, somehow everywhere and yet nowhere, the vibration compounded through their tiny legs and humming ever so lightly against her skin – and she nearly screamed again in frustration, writhing helplessly in place.

“_Fuck. Me_,” she ground out.

“Not yet,” said the voice, and she almost sobbed with the force of her impotent rage.

The next time she tried to arch up towards the non-existent pressure of Beelzebub, she found her ankles had been quite effectively locked to the mattress as well, leaving her pinned in place like a moth on display. She let out quite a pathetic little moan in surprise, and the flies seemed to _chuckle_. _Bastard._

“Of courszze,” came the disembodied voice of Beelzebub, “You’re the one who will have to read over all theszze miracle reportszz, Lord of the Fileszzz... will you moan my name aszz you remember? Will you touch yourszzzelf in your szzilent office?”

“’Smore than you’re bloody doing,” Dagon snarled, panting, fangs showing in earnest now.

“Naughty, naughty,” Beelzebub all but purred, as much as a thousand flies could purr. A number of them coalesced into a single hand, and she lightly thumbed over an already-erect nipple before trailing further down Dagon’s torso and stopping at her hips; Dagon bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood as she stifled another moan, the tang of metal filling her mouth. It was too much, _too_ much, how did humans live like this? Surely she was going to die.

“Wingszzz,” said the flies, and she found herself reduced to abject and garbled begging for reprieve, even as she unfurled them obediently, subjecting them to the exquisite torment of being touched by another being. It was bad enough when she hadn’t been on edge for the last – how long had it been? a decade? – but in her _current _state...

They flapped pathetically, jerkily on the bed, helplessly overstimulated as Beelzebub rushed to cover them. They might have been silver once, or perhaps a light grey, but now they were coated with a sheen of grease and scum. It made them shine just the same.

“_Revolting,_” said the flies with a distinct note of pleasure. Part of Dagon’s brain filed the compliment away for later; at the current moment she was more focused on the absolute torture that was thousands of tiny beings making simultaneous contact with the most sensitive part of a demon’s body. It was _agonising_, every one of their legs burning like dry ice might, seeping into her very core and turning her inside out. She was hopelessly aroused, but pinned as she was she could do nothing at all about it; couldn’t focus on anything but the sensation enveloping her wings. She felt her eyes white out entirely, the scales on her face creep further down her neck, as she began to lose control of her corporeal form.

She was going to _die_.

And because she was so focused on... other matters, it didn’t register with her that most of Beelzebub had coalesced back into a mostly-humanoid form until the Lord of the Flies had materialised between her legs, hooked a hand behind one knee, the other clawed and buried deep in her coverts, sending ever more localised sparks of lust through her via her tortured wings.

There were too many sensations, too many, too- and then Beelzebub looked up at her from between her legs and _grinned_ lecherously.

“Oh, _look _at you”, she half-hummed, flicking out an inhuman tongue experimentally to brush Dagon’s inner thigh. “You’re poszzitively _dripping. _All thiszzz for me?” The grin darkened, turned into something else entirely.

“Beelze- my _lord_, _please_, I am _begging you_-”

Let it not be said that Beelzebub was completely without mercy. (She may have _been, in fact, _completely without mercy, but one ought not to _say_ it to her face – as some disposable demons had learnt to the detriment of their ears, and certain limbs.*) Quite apart from that, she wanted to get her mouth on the demon below her just as much as Dagon wanted her to, and so acquiesced with little complaint, diving enthusiastically to her task.

Dagon’s hands were still fastened above her by demonic intent, but her wings were not. If anything this was even worse; they felt heavier than she could ever remember them being, as though the weight of the whole world and (Satan forbid) Heaven itself were on them, and they shook uncontrollably, twitching as if with a mind of their own. Having them pinned down properly would have provided a nice respite from the ravages suffered on them, but of course Beelzebub would not be so kind.

Dagon wouldn’t be fucking her on the regular if she were.

She moaned desperately as Beelzebub did something _obscene_ with her tongue (_proboscis_, the tiny part of Dagon’s brain that still functioned pointed out) and all but ground down into her face. Beelzebub looked up from between her legs (_don’t fucking stop_, she just about prevented herself from gasping) and grinned lopsidedly, four eyes black as pitch and chin dripping.

Dagon couldn’t help herself.

“Fucking- _please_ don’t stop. _Please_, Beelzebub, I’ll do-” Her hips bucked up seemingly of their own volition, once more meeting empty air. “_Please. Anything._”

Beelzebub continued smiling, running hands lightly up Dagon’s thighs. _Bastard_.

They reached her waist before she was finally, _finally _granted reprieve. She could have cried; she was so far gone that if her tear duct-free eyes had allowed it, she probably would have been unable to help herself. As it was, she found herself comprehensively prevented from forming words of any kind as her breathing hitched and stuttered, gasped expletives aborted before they could even be thought into being.

She would probably hear no end of it from Beelzebub later, but that was entirely unimportant. Much _more_ important was the fact that she was _finally _going to come, after what felt like literal years. Maybe it was. Time didn’t mean much in Hell.

Beelzebub was smirking, damn her, she could see it in her eyebrows and the way she was fucking _buzzing_ agains-

Oh.

Completely unaware of the fact that she had been released from all demonic constraints, Dagon writhed desperately under Beelzebub’s mouth, hands still obediently held above her and wings twitching and flapping pathetically, nearly lifting her torso off the bed. She collapsed on a half-exhale, half-moan, panting.

Beelzebub didn’t stop.

Dagon, for her part, didn’t stop swearing until she had ridden out a second orgasm, and even then her lexicon was only fleshed out by various forms of Beelzebub’s name, most of which were distinctly uncomplimentary.

The Lord of the Flies looked up, still smirking, and licked her face with her obscenity of a tongue, maintaining eye contact with all four eyes. Dagon was so wrung out it was all she could do to whimper in response.

Beelzebub slithered up to a kneeling position, straddling Dagon’s hips, and waited until she had come back to herself slightly, head on one side.**

“Szzzo.”

Dagon hummed tiredly, trailing clawed hands up Beelzebub’s now-bare thighs.

“Have you the energy to make a different szzzort of effort?”

Dagon would have laughed incredulously. As it was, she just kind of huffed as she raised both eyebrows.

“Only, I really want to ride you,” Beelzebub was continuing, oblivious. “But there are... other optionszzz, of courszzze.”

Dagon summoned the ability to speak from some nether realm. “I’m... fuck, just go with whatever, I’m... I can’t right now. Just use me. I said anything, remember?” She tried to laugh, and failed rather spectacularly, but Beelzebub seemed to get the joke.

The fly demon grinned lewdly as she manifested a luridly pink human sex toy into being, continued smirking as she rearranged herself, head falling back slightly. Dagon thought idly that she would quite like to lick that long neck, and all its delicious filth, but before she could move a muscle, Beelzebub had her pinned (physically this time) by the leading edge of her wings, grinding down into the grimy mattress.

She couldn’t help herself; Dagon gasped, a frisson of pleasure and agony racking her already exhausted body, her wings trying of their own accord to escape the torture they were undergoing.

Beelzebub buzzed in amusement and manifested her other four arms, two slipping down none too gently to grasp Dagon’s waist, the others inching up to fasten round her neck and _squeezing_.

And Dagon didn’t need the air, of course (and down here in the basement it wouldn’t have done her much good anyway), but the sensation of being pinned, in so many places, utterly at Beelzebub’s dubious mercy, was... exhilarating. The way Beelzebub’s eyes bored into her at close quarters like maggots through soft flesh, dead and emotionless, deeper and blacker than the lowest pit.

She wouldn’t place bets on it (who was she kidding, she’d bet on anything, it was a sin after all), but she was fairly certain that she could probably come again like this: Beelzebub pinning her down in six different places, riding her intently into the mattress. All that attention, all those eyes, fixed on her... it was _fiendishly _arousing.

Beelzebub was buzzing more frantically now, as though she couldn’t hold it back if she tried; her hips began stuttering against Dagon’s, though her various grips never wavered.

Dagon found herself gasping in tandem, willing Beelzebub on, eventually rolling one of her tongues out and around Beelzebub’s neck, yanking her closer before crushing their mouths together and burying the other down her throat, swallowing the noises she was making before they could come to fruition.

Within seconds, Beelzebub had collapsed against her chest; the toy had been vanished and the Lord of the Flies was out cold and snoring loudly.***

Sloth straight on the heels of Lust. Dagon would expect no less.

She smiled to herself, tugging two of Beelzebub’s arms more snugly against her, and closed her eyes.

* They grew _back_, she wasn’t a _monster_. Well. She was, but she needed as many demons intact in the massed armies of Hell as possible, so permanent damage was out.

**If anyone had asked, she was _not_ considering just how attractive Dagon looked in this state. Like rotting meat, she found herself hard pressed to keep away from her.

***Think of an infestation of bluebottles in a confined space. Now multiply that by three and add an industrial chainsaw, and you have a vague inkling of the noise which Beelzebub could produce unwittingly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! If you liked it I would love to hear from you (comments are my lifeblood honestly) xx


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